A romantic view of a singing chain gang, a trio of bumbling escaped convicts, barking dogs chasing them down in the underbrush, bluegrass music, Joel Coen directing the action: how can you miss?

The unorthodox Coen brothers thrive on the bizarre and this time they transport us to the deep South on a journey that closely resembles Homer's Odyssey. Like the original Ulysses, our modern hero and his half-witted companions must overcome endless obstacles to reach the proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

So we happily join them on their on their wild ride through the highways, biways and bayous and we're intrigued with each scene: the aggressive Cyclops (played by the ever-reliable John Goodman) rips them off, the Sirens tempt them into the river of fate and the good wife back home (Holly Hunter) must be won back from a replacement husband.

Those sections are easily recognisable. They steal a car and we get excited in anticipation of some action this time less predictable. But then there is a tedious conversation with a mumbling hitchhiker they pick up. Oh wait! As it turns out he's not retarded after all. In fact he's a masterful guitar picker and, boom, they fluke their way into cutting a hit record in a lonesome radio station. It's all great stuff - potentially.

The problem is in the sum of the parts. Homer delivered so much in his classic. Coen borrows heavily from him but at the same time seems preoccupied with out-weirding Fellini with the strange cast of characters our bumbling wanderers meet along the way.

In the end Clooney's performance is satisfying, albeit somewhat over-acted (his career-defining role is yet to come), and the ol' time music is great but why all the silly antics during the songs? It's all a bit too much. Besides, couldn't at least one or two of the people in the film have been dumb - but like a fox?

The erratic Coens over the years have taken us from the sublime (Fargo) to the ridiculous (The Big Lebowski). Here they have tried their hand at slapstick, but in an unsophisticated way. Harold Lloyd and Charlie Chaplin wouldn't have been impressed. Homer would be turning in his grave.